


At Your Service

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Carter's got game, F/M, I am so weak for Carter, Sinful Challenge fic, and drinks I don't drink, and it shows, because fuck vermouth and gin, but so does reader, crossposted from tumblr, smut galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: There's soft jazz playing from unseen speakers, clinking glasses and muted conversations wrapping this place in an atmosphere of ease while staff weave around tables and booths like they're floating. It's a place designed to relax, and yet you've never felt more tense, more on edge, more like a fall might send you tumbling and smash you into a thousand pieces."There's gotta be better options to drink than something you clearly don't enjoy."“Mmm, but if it tastes good, it will get me very drunk. And I don’t want to be very drunk,” you explain, cocking your head. “I just want to be tipsy enough that when I go to bed tonight, I’ll fall asleep before I even know it.”





	At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sinful Secrets Challenge on Tumblr. My prompt was “I met him in a hotel just for sex. And then we both left” and well... this is what became of it.

There's soft jazz playing from unseen speakers, clinking glasses and muted conversations wrapping this place in an atmosphere of ease while staff weave around tables and booths like they're floating. It's a place designed to relax, and yet you've never felt more tense, more on edge, more like a fall might send you tumbling and smash you into a thousand pieces. The martini glass in front of you is nearly drained. It tastes vile, the vermouth making your face want to curl up in grimaces, but vodka is vodka, and vodka is what your nerves crave if you're ever hoping to sleep tonight. With an ill-disguised huff, you throw back the last mouthful, setting down the glass on the little coaster with a thud, raising your finger to order another one.

"There's gotta be better options to drink than something you clearly don't enjoy."

A smooth voice next to you, followed by an equally smooth man, dressed impeccably in a suit that can only be bespoke. It accommodates wide shoulders, a tapered waist, wraps around thick thighs that make your stomach jolt a little. He looks like the kind of man you do not make the mistake of underestimating, even less so when you take in his face. Plush lips pulled into a teasing smirk, sharp cheekbones and glittering eyes that are a shade of blue that can be discerned even in the dim light. His hair, chestnut brown and curling slightly at the ends, is styled back, the kind that looks effortless but has no doubt taken him a lot of work to look exactly this tousled. He sets down his mostly empty glass of what looks like scotch, and you smooth out your expression, smiling politely at him.

“Mmm, but if it tastes good, it will get me very drunk. And I don’t want to be very drunk,” you explain, cocking your head. “I just want to be tipsy enough that when I go to bed tonight, I’ll fall asleep before I even know it.”

“There are easier ways to tire yourself out,” he counters, then, after a glance down at your left hand to check for a ring and finding none, he adds: “Far more pleasant ways, too.”

Brazen. The kind of man you would very much like to hook up with but very much shouldn’t. He’s got trouble written all over him. A devil in a designer suit. You purse your lips, pretending to consider his unspoken offer while he drains his glass.

“My partner would rather I come back a little tipsy than not at all.”

His facade drops at once, nodding, already looking for an out, another conquest. So skittish.

“Not that kind of partner,” you tell him. “Work partner. Here for business, nothing more.”

That sly smile again. The bartender finishes your martini, sets it down in front of you. The man sets his hand on yours when you hold out a bill to pay.

“Allow me. Sir?” He looks at the bartender, an easy smile on his face. “Gin tonic, I’ll pay for the lady’s drink, too.”

“Tired of scotch?” you ask, nodding to his empty glass.

“Well, if we’re drinking to get just a little drunk, then a gin tonic is my poison. It does the trick, but god, it tastes horrible.” Your little laugh in response prompts him to continue. “If I wanted the taste of forest in my mouth, I’d go out and chew on a Christmas tree.”

It pulls a laugh from you, because yeah, that’s kind of your attitude towards vermouth. If you wanted that many herbs, you’d go sniff a spice cabinet. The man extends a hand to you.

“Carter.”

His hand is warm when you shake it, giving your own name in kind. His gin tonic is set down in front of him and he pays, an offhand “keep the change” to the bartender before he raises his glass.

“Here’s to hoping we won’t have to drink these again anytime soon,” he declares, clinking his glass to yours.

“The drinks may leave something to be desired, but thank god for good company,” you reply.

You both grimace through the first sip, not even trying to hide your distaste. It’s easy conversation from there, smalltalk that says a lot but reveals little. He lives downtown, you’re here for business, a meeting that has you stressed and trying to squash it with martinis. Carter’s charming, easing closer little by little, reading your body language. He talks with his hands, touches your shoulders your hands to illustrate points or jokes, until suddenly his hand is resting over yours. It’s… It’s late. It’s three martinis later, and you don’t mind how close he is, don’t mind the sweet word that laces his stories, don’t mind the half formed fantasies swirling through your mind. It’s nice. It doesn’t do any harm. Imagining never hurt anyone.

When Carter leans in, lips almost grazing yours, your eyes flutter close, “I won’t if you don’t want to… but if you’d let me… I’d love to kiss you right now.”

Emboldened by vodka and spurred on by the intimacy that has been simmering between you, you close the distance, answering his request with your lips pressed against his. To his credit, his surprise only lasts a second before his lips move against yours, gentle pressure and a cheeky swipe of his tongue against the seam of your lips. There’s no battle, no surrender, just a slow kiss that lingers as neither one of you wants to be the first to be the one to break it. 

“Wow.”

The word tickles, his lips still brushing up against you. Maybe it’s still a kiss, simply stretched out as much as possible. You don’t care. Your heart, your soul elates in the closeness, the warmth. You want to stay, want to take this kiss and run with it, see where it takes you, where you land when the high recedes. If only- But there’s-

You sigh.

“I should go.”

It’s an ice cold wedge between you, forcing you apart, the harsh truth of reality. There’s been enough vodka, enough excitement, enough climbing. If you go any higher, you’ll crash by morning. There’s work to be done. Carter nods, gives a little hum.

Explanations gather on your tongue, each sounding like a feeble explanation, a lie, a pitiful excuse.

“Sure.” Carter presses a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for the company.”

“Thank you for the kiss.”

You slide off the bar stool, picking up your scarf, the umbrella you had carried to stave off the light rain falling when you had arrived, tucking your purse under your arm.

“I might as well leave, too,” he says, leaving another tip for the bartender. “Can I walk with you? For as long as we might go the same way?”

Nodding your assent, you wait for him, walking out sides touching sides. Outside, he looks at you to see where you’re headed, a small smile and a shake of his head when you indicate you’re going left.

“Typical.”

Not wanting to part from him just yet, you sling your arms around him, kissing him again. It’s short and ferocious, fireworks in your veins to end the night with. Damn tomorrow. Damn tomorrow to a very cold hell. Carter bites his lower lips when you part this time, swearing under his breath and pulling a scrap of paper from the pocket of his pants and a pen from his suit’s breast pocket, scribbling on it.

“I know you said your… partner’s waiting for you. But if you still want to tire yourself out… I’m getting a room at this hotel, and if you want to... I’ll be at your service.”

Taking your hand, he sets the note in your palm, closing your fingers around it and turning it so he kan kiss your knuckles. With a final smile, he husks out a goodnight and heads off into the night. You look down at the note. His handwriting is messy, though more because of the haste it was written in, and you make out the name of a very high end hotel, his name underneath.

“Hey!” you call after him. “Thought you said you lived downtown.”

Carter turns, and even from a distance you can see the playful smile on his face. “Neutral ground. Steady beds.”

With a laugh, you start your own trek towards the hotel. You make it a block away before you look at the note again, Carter’s words echoing in your mind. 

_I’ll be at your service._

Your hotel is by no means far away, and yet the walk back drags on. Red lights, lingering by illuminated display windows, stopping for a bite to eat to save you from any vicious attack that the vodka you’d had might be plotting against you. You’re not stalling. Absolutely not. You’ll go back to the hotel, you’ll brush your teeth, try not to make too much noise and then fall into bed.

_I’ll be at your service._

_There are easier ways to tire yourself out_

You check where his hotel is just out of curiosity.

The lights at the intersections changes.

Twice.

_There are easier ways to tire yourself out_

Whoever planned the lobby must have done it with the intention to intimidate. It is vast, marble floors and crystal chandeliers and matching wall fixtures, staff posted in smart uniforms by the onyx black desk. Breathe. Walk with purpose. You belong here. You put on a tired expression, walking up to the front desk, asking for a reservation under Baizen. Offer a vague sigh about how good it is to finally be there. Smile at the clerk, thank them for the key. An elevator opens to your left, and you briskly walk over, your heels clicking against the floor. Press for the right floor. Breathe.

Carter’s eyes widen when he opens for you, his suit halfshed and leaving him in slacks and his shirt half unbuttoned. 

“What did you tell them that made them give me the key so easily?” you ask, head cocked to the side.

One corner of his mouth draws up in a smirk, “That my partner would likely follow, but unknown when because of delayed travel arrangements.”

Smart. You allow yourself five seconds of hesitation. No. You’re here now. You’re here and you want to be. “I won’t be here when you wake up,” you tell him, part warning, part greeting.

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but you quickly press your index finger to his lips, walking past him. The door closes behind you.

You’re halfway out of your dress when Carter comes up behind you, warm hands on your hips anchoring you in place, pressing a kiss to your neck that makes you sigh. Your body relinquishes control, hands falling to your side and leaving the dress half unzipped in the back while you let him explore the column of your neck. It’s intimate, so close, you can feel the length of his body pressed up against you, his lips moving meticulously to find just the spot that will make you shiver. It’s frustrating, your need rushing through you, lighting you on fire, and you can feel him, how hard he is against you.

“Carter…” you whine breathlessly, squirming against him, challenging him to move, to do anything.

He hushes you in reply, “Just because you won’t be here when I wake up… doesn’t mean I won’t take my time with you.”

With that, you sign yourself away to him. You relinquish all ideas of taking what you need in favour of getting what he’ll give you, and Carter makes good on his promise. He lavishes your body in kisses, lips and tongue teasing at spots you didn’t know could make you sigh and keen. A hand trails down your sides, dips under the hem of your dress to cup you, fingers deftly teasing your folds through your underwear. He stokes a fire that makes you feel like you will combust, blaze the clothes right off your body and leave you bare for him. When he slips one finger under the flimsy material of your panties, he groans at the feeling of your wetness pooling at your folds.

“Tell me what you need.” Carter’s voice is low and gritty, the tip of his finger tracing along your slit. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

“God… you. Need- oh, fuck!” Your voice breaks when he pushes past your folds to play with your clit, the little nub slick and swollen. “Need you.”

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, a content hum that tickles your skin.

“You need me, hmm? Just like this? Not even undressed, taken apart by my hand, so desperate. Is that enough?”

A sound of protest wrenches itself up your throat, hips bucking to get more friction, more pressure. Pleasure arcs through you, heightened when you feel teeth setting against your pulsepoint. Carter stops his ministrations, holds you suspended between pleasure and a bite of pain.

“Uh-uh, baby… Be a good girl and answer me. Is this enough? You don’t even wriggle out of this pretty dress, I take you apart by teasing you with my fingers nice and slow.”

Part of you wants to claw at him, take what you need, but the one that wins is the one that wants to melt at the low grit in his voice, wants to acquiesce to it. “No…”

Carter rewards you by pressing a long, slender finger into you, “Good girl… Why don’t you tell me what you need then?”

Words are so inadequate, they burn and die on your tongue, thoughts scattering before they have even properly formed with each sedate drag of his fingertips along your walls. He seems content enough to let you suffer so deliciously at his hand, doesn’t prompt you again while you struggle to form the words.

“Need- god… Need you. Hard,” you manage between shallow breaths, biting your lower lip. “Need you until I can’t speak. ‘t-til I’ll be sure to feel you for days, oh, fuck… In every way… you can think of. Want to… oh, fuck… want to walk back, f-full of you.”

He doesn’t turn on a dime. If anything he slows down ever more, cooing at you in praise while his hand stills inside you, slipping out of you slowly, tortuously. Carter makes a show of letting you see him pull his hand back up, his finger wet in the low light then gently painting your lips with your sweet, tangy slick before angling your head so he can taste you in a kiss. How you keep standing on your feet is beyond you, but you let yourself be molded by him, too drunk on his ministrations to notice when your dress falls to the floor in a low rustle, the way your nipples pebble, or the cool touch of the floor to ceiling windows against the palms of your hand. Only when your chest is pressed against the glass with your back arched, and Carter hooks his fingers into your panties to ease them down do you draw in a sharp breath, blinking lazily at the city below. 

“Stay still, princess…” Carter husks, thumbs teasing down the back of your thighs. “Look down. Look at all those people down there… Just walking. Most of them won’t even think to look up. And if they do…”

If they do. Your body shudders, exhilaration and shame mingling into something that has your cheeks heating up. If they do-

“They’ll see you…” He hums, gently grabbing your ankles so you can step out of your panties. “A goddess… giving her body over to pleasure. Having what they can’t.”

It’s never been something you’ve fantasized about, not as such, but the images that flash through your mind; the scene laid out and playing like a movie, seeing yourself from down on the street, pressed up against the window, it makes you rub your thighs together, slick seeping through your folds.

“Uh-uh, spread your legs, baby… Let me see you.”

He holds you still, arms wrapped around your legs, keeping you upright while he drags his tongue slowly up your folds, the tip teasing your folds apart, tasting you. Your fingers desperately seek purchase against the window pane, pleasure arcing through you, making you stretch up onto your tippy toes. Carter hushes at you, easing you back down, continuing to lick and tease and lave at your folds, his sounds of contentment drowned out by your own moans. You come undone in minutes, the window fogged up from your breath and your heart beating a mile a minute.

Carter looks like the cat that ate the canary when he turns you around, still kneeling in front of you. He licks his lips, pupils blown wide with lust and he seems to grow into a giant before you when he gets up to his feet. No talking, no words are needed. In a blink you are kissing again, a sigh at the taste of your release still lingering on his tongue. Eager hands work at his shirt, the button and zipper of his slacks, rakes through his hairs, making a mess of the careful sidepart. Your stomach swoops, air leaving your lungs in a harsh exhale when you land on the bed, naked and aching and searching for him. He is a vision before you, all subtle muscle moving under smooth skin. His clothes are shed save for a pair of boxer briefs that fit him like a second skin, showing the outline of a hard cock and a wet patch where precum has already leaked through.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, eyes raking over you. “Wanting to go home full of me? I won’t deny you if you really want it.” He smirks, one hand brushing over his cock. “Clean as a whistle.”

The image flashes through your mind, an accompaniment to the fantasy that had spilled from your lips earlier. Taking a cab back to your own hotel, the warmth of him seeping through your panties, reminding you of the night you had. Nodding, you can barely get your voice to carry when you tell him you’re on the pill, that you, too, are clean. Carter smiles like a wolf.

“Hands and knees, princess,” he says, voice low and gritty like a growl. “Arch that pretty back for me.”

His words have you moving, scrambling to roll over, to tuck your knees under you, to fist your hands into the pristine sheets. The seconds inbetween drag out into eternities where you become hyperaware of your heated skin, your slick folds and being so, so exposed while Carter seemingly does nothing. You need him, need to feel him, to feel something, everything. When his hands smooth along your hips and up your sides you give a long, lewd moan, the touch so innocent yet so possessive. Carter hushes you, wraps himself over you to plant hungry kisses down your back. 

“Please, please, please…” The words slur on your tongue, hands aching from holding on to the sheets so tightly.

Three fingers drag down your slit, a delicious mix of release and pain, a low grunt following. 

“So eager… Oh, fuck… I don’t want to hurt you, precious. Mmm, gotta be nice and slick so I don’t hurt you.”

You want to say you don’t care, it can hurt for all you care so long as he gets inside you, makes you feel something. They are feeble protests that die on your tongue when the head of his cocks starts pushing against you entrance, slipping in and _god oh god please please more god yes_

It’s slow and delicious, a strain that licks fire through your vein. Carter squeezes your hips hard, keeps his composure as he slowly slides into you, thick and long and curved just so. His breaths are heavy when he bottoms out, but it’s only a small reprieve.

“Tell me again. Tell me how you need it. Just one word. One word, and I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart beats like a snare drum in your chest. 

_“Hard.”_

Finally, _finally_ , he gives you what you want. With another growl, he rights himself, sets a punishing pace that has your nerves singing right from the start. Every thrust, every sweet brush of his cock against your walls works at the tension you have felt all through your trip, through this night in particular. You let yourself feel, allow yourself to detach from your plans and schedules and appointments, give yourself into the pleasure of the man above you fucking you hard enough you feel like he might split you in half.

“C’mon now, don’t be shy,” Carter rumbles above you, the low timbre of his voice going straight to your core. “Lemme hear you. Lemme hear you moan for me, princess.”

As if you needed incentive, he angles his hips, works you in hard and quick strokes that nearly send you reeling off the edge. Part of you tries to fall forward, escape the onslaught of pleasure, while another part basks in it, wants more, wants him to continue until the world goes blank. Your salacious moans mingle with the rhythmic slap of his hips, a symphony of sounds that he plays with your bodies, working you up to a final crescendo. Over and over he brings you to the edge, teases you when your moans turn into desperate whines and pleas.

“Baby… what kind of partners have you been with if you think a couple of minutes and one orgasm will tire you out?” he tuts at you, once again wrapping himself over you, pushing you down into the mattress while he lazily strokes in and out of you. “I said I’d be at your service, that I’d tire you out. Do you feel tired, hmm?”

“No… please, I just- I’m so close,” you bite out, arching as best you can under him, letting him slip just a little deeper.

“Needy is not tired, now, is it? Needy just means I have to work you longer. Go slow… and hard… and have you so tightly wound and desperate that you can’t even beg when I finally let you cum.”

Carter pulls out then, drawing a long, miserable sound from you. With a soothing hush, he turns you over on your back, easing in between your legs and slides back in on a long exhale. His brow has a sheen of sweat, the carefully styled hair gone wild and curling like a halo framing his face. Wrapping your legs around his waist feels natural, lulls you into some sort of false hope that you control him now, that you have him right where you want him. He smirks, kisses up your throat while your pulse thrums under the sensitive skin.

Your control is only imagined.

Carter knows just what he’s doing, giving you just enough to get your breathing quick and shallow, your moans turning to whimpers and your hands reaching to hold him, dig your nails into his skin. He molds you just the way he wants to, shows you just how good sex can feel from every possible position. Little by little he makes the force with which you’d grab the sheets, claw at his back and biceps, buck yourself into him dwindle until you’re pliant in his arms, each stroke of his cock making a moan spill from you.

“Such a pretty girl…” he purrs in your ear, hands guiding your hips as you’re sitting on his lap, his cock buried deep.

“Car…” you slur in response, feeling like your entire body is undulating to the tantalizing rhythm he’s spelled out for you.

“Gonna need you to help me out now, precious. Fuck, you’re so sweet and slick for me, are you ready to cum?” He gives a throaty laugh when you whine, words stuck in your throat. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you? Mmm, been so good for me, taken everything I’ve given you and not cum even once.” Carter lowers his voice, lips tickling the shell of your ears. “Have you even noticed that I’ve already cum twice? No? Haven’t noticed I’ve filled your pretty pussy. Fuck, bet it’s already seeping out.”

Your arousal spikes, makes your back bow, your core clenching around him, feeling him hard and throbbing inside you, “Please…”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you’re good and ready aren’t you? Want you to cum with me now. So close, wanna cum in you again. Want to feel this pretty pussy squeeze me, milk me of every drop. Want to give you just what you asked for, have you cum with me just the way you wanted to. Can you tell me again what you wanted from me?”

Clinging to him like he’s the one thing in the little bubble you exist in that can anchor you, you struggle to find the words. There is so much, so many sensations, all boiled down to one point of contact that has set your body aflame. So many words. But he won’t let you have what you want if you don’t tell him. He’ll just tease you more, won’t ever let you snap like you need to. With a shuddering inhale, you loll your head back, looking at him with glassy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

“Fuck… hard…”

Carter coos again, running a hand down your cheek, down your chest to cup one of your breasts, teasing and worrying one hardened nipple between his fingers. If he doesn’t- Please, don’t make-

“Good girl.”

You don’t know how you get your body to respond, to muster strength to solidify again, but somehow they do. Somehow, you are able to follow when Carter starts guiding you to rut faster, harder against him, praising you and encouraging you when you take charge, when you start chasing. Your peak has been growing and swelling inside of you, undulating and threatening to take you over time and time again only to be held back. Nothing’s holding you back now, you won’t let it, won’t care if Carter were to deny you again. 

“Fuck, fuck, please, I’m so- I’m so-” you babble, throwing your head back when Carter’s hand slips between you to press against your clit, giving you another point of pleasure to work. “Fuck!”

It’s reckless and wild, sheets bunching under your legs as you ride and rut and grind. Carter’s hand is a solid pressure on your back, cool against your heated, sweat-slicked skin, keeping you upright. His own grunts vibrate against the crook of your neck, lips and teeth sucking and nipping at your pulse point. _So close. Fuckfuckfuck just a little just a little god oh fuck there please right there right there_

He breaks first, and this time, you feel it, the rhythmic throb inside you, and it pushes you over. The tidal wave that has steadily built inside you crests and pleasure flows free and uninhibited, wracking your body, every quiver of your core amplified through your entire body. The final shred of awareness of the world outside of the embrace of your arms fades, and you’re suspended in the glorious seconds where you can feel your orgasm and Carter’s, like the split second after a thunderclap. The tension and irritation from earlier are washed away, decaying as you slowly come down, slumping against Carter’s chest, sated and spent.

“I know you said you wouldn’t spend the night, but would it be terribly cliché of me to ask you to stay either way?”

Carter sounds groggy where he lies, sprawled out gloriously naked against the white sheets. The digital clock on one of the bedside tables shows 2.43 am, and you’re searching for your other shoe, dress half pulled on.

“And risk waking up alone? Or with a horrible case of ‘I should not have done this’? you shoot back, swaying a little. 

“Do you think you shouldn’t have done this?” he shoots back, rolling over to look at you.

You stop in your tracks, looking at him. How can he still look that handsome with wild sex hair and only the corner of a sheet to cover his modesty. That should look corny, but fuck, if he doesn’t pull it off.

“Not now,” you confess, your shoulders slumping. “But if I stayed? Woke up here, feeling all of the things we just did? Probably. Besides, my business partner won’t be above sending out a search party if I’m not in our room when our alarm goes off at 7 am.”

“Yeah, I get that. Think I would have needed it in high school.”

You let out a sound of relief, spotting your shoe stuck between the wardrobe and a chair. Poking your foot into it, you look back at Carter. “Ah, bad boy?”

“I may have had a reputation or two,” he smirks in reply, his expression quickly softening. “At least let me get you an Uber, get you back safely?”

You agree, and to your luck, there’s a driver just around the block. Shrugging on your coat, you walk back to give Carter a kiss on the cheek.

“I had fun, Carter.”

“Me, too, princess,” he purrs, reaching for your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

You give a huffing laugh, “I feel like I should be writing Cosmo after this.” You put on a seductive voice, “Dear Cosmo, I met the most amazing guy while on a business trip. Gorgeous. Sexy. Eyes like the ocean. We hit it off and… then, well… I met him in a hotel just for sex. And then… we both left. Ships in the night. We met, had sex, we left. Oh, Cosmo, I can’t tell you how good he was. And then walking home… I felt so naughty, I don’t normally do these things.”

His face scrunches up in a mix of horror and amusement. “Oh, god, my sister used to read those, I think I just had a flashback to when I was fifteen. Jesus, you can’t leave me with that mental image.”

Maybe you’re still riding the high of your orgasm still, but you quirk an eyebrow at him and wiggle out of your panties, dropping the in front of him. “To remember me by. And to replace the mental image with a far nicer one.”

Carter picks up the scrap of fabric on his index finger, thumbing at the material and biting his lips when he feels the wet patch right at the crotch.

“I had fun,” he says, rolling off the bed and coming to stand in front of you. “Really, really fun. But… did I accomplish my mission?”

You press a kiss to his lips, humming contentedly. “I’ll sleep like a baby,” you promise. 

The drive to your own hotel is short, the staff at the front desk barely sparing you a glance when you walk through the lobby, the heels of your shoes clicking in the quiet room. Your co-worker is sound asleep, and so you tiptoe around quietly to get undressed, brush your teeth and set out a fresh outfit for the morning. Cosying down under the covers, you spare a final moment to feel just how well Carter fucked you, heat creeping up your cheeks thinking about his cum inside of you. One hand cupping yourself, you drift off to sleep.

“When did you get in last night?” your partner asks the next morning in the cab heading into the meeting you have been dreading all week. “I thought you were just going down to the hotel bar?”

Avoiding their gaze, you look out, following the cityscape and the people walking the streets. “Yeah, I went out. Walked a bit. Found a really good bar a few blocks away. Horrible martinis. I didn’t stay too long.”

_Because I met a guy who fucked me in a hotel room._

“You hate martinis.”

“Not as much as I hate this meeting,” you counter, finally looking over. It’s a safe topic. If you get worked up, it’s understandable.

“We’ll be fine. Just need to stay firm on our position, and we’ll be fine.”

Sure, fine. Fine is not what you feel stepping out at the impressive building housing the company you’re meeting with. Fine is not what you feel being made to way by the douche canoe CEO who was the one insisting on an 8 am meeting to begin with. Fine is not what you feel when they tell you their CFO is running late and you’ll just have to wait.

Fine is not what you feel when said CFO shows up.

“Ah, the man of the hour. Seems we’re all set then. Carter, this is hopefully our future business partners.”

Your blood runs cold and even as you turn around you already know who you will see.

“And this is our CFO.”

_Carter Baizen._

Your heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings in your chest as you shake his hand. How he manages to keep a straight face is beyond you. The meeting can’t be over soon enough, and the hours drag until lunch is finally announced and you excuse yourself, heading for the bathrooms as quickly as you can, locking yourself into one of the stalls.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

The door opens. Footsteps. Then:

“What was that you said about ships in the night?” Carter’s voice reverberates in the tiled room.

“Clearly I’ve misunderstood the expression,” you moan, hiding your face in your hands.

“I’m sure we can find a better expression to suit us.”

You open the door, levelling him with a stare. “Yeah, like what?”

His smile, easy and amused grows wide and wicked. “How about partners in crime?”

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” you tell him, shifting back into your business persona. “We didn’t come here to get taken over.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He runs a hand down your cheeks, and fuck, if you don’t melt a little, images rushing through your mind of the same touch from the night before. “We’re all going to walk out of here at the end of the day very happy. Especially you and I.”

You meet his gaze, the same kind of brazen confidence in it that had caught your attention at the bar. Two can play this game. Placing your hand over his, you rub at his knuckles.

“And why is that?”

“We’ll be partners. Think about all those long business trips you’ll take, all the… fruitful discussions we’ll have going over, mmm… transactions. All the money we’ll make.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” you purr, dragging his hand down to your mouth to slowly pull his thumb into your warm, wet mouth, suckling it before letting off with an audible pop. The sight of Carter staggering a little fills you with glee. “And if I want something else, too?”

“Name it,” he husks out, voice rasping before he swallows.

Pouting, you cock your head, guiding his hand down, down, down, under your smart skirt, to the delicate lace covering your core. “I don’t think I need to, do you?”

Carter bites his lower lip, draws it into his mouth before releasing it, shaking his head.

“How long until lunch is over?” you ask, voice low and suggestive.

His hand closes around your underwear, lust simmering in his eyes as he steps into the stall, closing the door behind you.

“Long enough.”


End file.
